


birds in the trees

by dottie_wan_kenobi, Katharoses



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Awesome Howling Commandos, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Period-Typical Racism, POV Peggy Carter, World War II, i tried to sound british and failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dottie_wan_kenobi/pseuds/dottie_wan_kenobi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katharoses/pseuds/Katharoses
Summary: “I’ve been thinking,” she begins, not sure where she’s going with it until she says, “I would quite like to kiss you.”His breath catches in his throat, his mouth dropping open just enough for her to glimpse his tongue. “I’d like to kiss you, too,” he tells her, no surprise coloring his tone despite his flustered expression.Stepping closer, Gabe seems to sober. He doesn’t stop until they’re close enough that his chest brushes against hers.“Shall I, then?” She whispers. It’s possibly one of the bravest things she’s ever done, take this step with him.“You shall,” he replies at the same volume.





	birds in the trees

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a reference to THREE songs: Diana by Paul Anka (lyric being: "I don't care just what they say / 'Cause forever I will pray / You and I will be as free / As the birds up in the trees"); My Girl by The Temptations (lyric being: "I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees"); Feeling Good by Nina Simone (lyric being: "Birds flying high / You know how I feel" does fit quite as well but whatever). All 3 are great songs that you should absolutely listen to. I felt they were appropriate for the tone of this fic, the setting/time period, and the fact that all three are POC.
> 
> I wanna thank my amazing artist, [samthebirdbae/katharoses](https://samthebirdbae.tumblr.com), my amazing alpha reader, [calihart](http://calihart.tumblr.com), and my amazing sensitivity reader (bc I'm hella white and wanted to make sure I didn't write Gabe completely and totally wrong), [softobsidian74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftObsidian74/pseuds/SoftObsidian74)!!!!! Also thank you to Heather and Jackie!!!
> 
> There's not a lot of Steve and Bucky within because I wanted to focus on Peggy and Gabe, so assume everything else is still the same except Steve and Peggy aren't feeling Romantic Feelingz for each other.

Peggy sees Gabe several times before that night. He’s up there in the front with Steve when they all return from Azzano, but she’d only really had eyes for Steve at that moment. She also sees him coming out of the medical tent, and later across the room in the mess hall, sitting with Steve and a collection of other men.

Colonel Phillips complains, briefly, about Steve picking his own team, calling Gabe “the black boy”. It chafes, but she’s not quite allowed to say anything. Still, she thinks, _Americans_ , with a private roll of her eyes. The Colonel allows her to accompany the proposed team, who apparently call themselves the Howling Commandos on half a joke, half a dare (if the rumor mill is to be believed), back to England.

There’s a boat ride to France, a train to get them to the Channel, and then another boat. It takes days, but it’s safer than flying around continental Europe. She gets a private room each time, all three equally dreadful, but it’s more entertaining staying with the men.

Peggy is introduced to them all, one at a time. Steve is the one who does it, and so she meets Sergeant James Barnes first. After that is Private Jim Morita, former Ranger of the US Army Nisei Squadron, Jacques Dernier who starts to tell her, in slow and accented English, “I am…”

And gets interrupted by, “A pyromaniac?” and “A baguette-wielding _bon-bon_?”

Dernier proceeds to rant something in French that Peggy half understands (she won’t repeat what she hears, not in polite company). It has Gabe nearly crying with laughter, and goes untranslated.

Major James Montgomery Falsworth of His Majesty's 3rd Independent Parachute Brigade of the British Armed Forces takes the moment to introduce himself to her, and they talk for a moment about going home to England. Then Sergeant Timothy Aloysius Cadwallader Dugan of the 69th Infantry Regiment, who insists she call him “Dum Dum”, bounds up and introduces himself.

Finally, there’s Gabe.

He wipes his eyes and seems to realize he’s the last to say hi. He shuffles on his feet a little, bashful. When he gets close enough, she reaches out a hand. “Peggy Carter,” she says.

He takes her hand somewhat reverently, smiling. “Private Gabe Jones. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well.”

They talk very little, no time for it evidently, if the way the other Commandos’ quick talking and gesturing in an opposite direction is anything to go by. Gabe makes sure to squeeze in a “Sorry, ma’am,” before he lets the others drag him off.

There is an injured Major on the first boat with them, and he commands the attention of the men with his stories. Peggy listens occasionally, but there’s work for her to do.

She doesn’t see much of them on the train or second boat. It all really starts in London, in a bar that will swiftly become a Howling Commando playing ground.

**[...]**

In said bar, Peggy talks to Steve first, since he’s the reason she’s there (a message to be sent, and of course she could’ve let one of the trainees do it but this is much more fun), and once that’s done, she decides to stay a while. She’s twenty-two, legal to drink, and it has been truly too long since she has. But who to sit with? She’s already made a grand exit from Steve and James’ corner, so it can’t be them.

Through the crowd, she spots the other Commandos at a table, having a laugh.

Peggy squares her shoulders and slices through the crowd of bodies, all too close for polite company. There’s a war on, and she supposes desperate times call for desperate measures. The closeness, however, is much too desperate if you ask her.

Nevermind the fact that it’s been long months for her, she thinks, and puts on a smile as she approaches the table.

Jim notices her first, clearing his throat and sitting up. It should be comical, how silly and young he looks like this, but it’s not. He and the rest of the Commandos have suffered as no human deserves, and, more trivally, they all think she’s a bit older than him. Just a few months, but enough to make him the youngest. Little do they know she falsified her age to get a better job.

It’s not as though that’s important, however, and so Peggy pushes it away. She watches as the other men turn to greet her, a round of ‘hello’s and one ‘bonjour’.

“Hello,” she says back, brisk and to the point. “I’d quite like a drink. Is it alright if I sit with you gentlemen?”

They splutter for a moment, and Dum Dum, who she understands is the most oldschool of them, looks like he might say no. But Gabe cuts in smoothly, and says, “Yeah, ‘course. Pull up a chair.”

 _He’s sweet_ , Peggy thinks as she does just that. It’s odd to do it by herself when usually it’s done for her. She wonders if this is how Southern girls act, then dismisses the thought. Her chair gets wedged in between Gabe’s and Falsworth’s, with just enough room for her legs to be pressed against one of theirs. She chooses Gabe, mostly because he was the one to invite her to sit down. It’s also because Falsworth is a bit older, and he doesn’t look quite as nice.

She sits for a moment and listens as Dum Dum picks up a tale he’d been weaving. Getting up to brave the crowd twice and bring back a drink will be a hassle and she’s not quite up for it yet.

As the other men get caught up in the story, Gabe watches her. He tells her, “I’m gonna go get another round — what’s your poison?”

This is a pub, not one of the fancy sidebars at her family’s home, so nothing too elaborate tonight. “French 75, please.”

The men joke about that, but not for long. Soon Gabe has a whole list of drinks to get — bourbon on the rocks, “as many beers as you can carry, my man”, “some wine please for god’s sake, some _real_ wine, I can’t stand this vermouth” which leads to quite the ribbing of poor Jim, rum, whiskey, “excuse my French ma’am, but just get the whole damn bar!” — and Peggy cannot, in good conscience, let him go alone though the last thing she wants is to face the dancefloor again.

“That’s not necessary, ma’am,” Gabe says when she stands, too.

“It’s Peggy,” she corrects, smooths down her skirt. “Of course it is necessary. It’s too much for any man to carry a whole bar.”

Dum Dum calls over the din, “That fella over there is doin’ his best,” referring to the man singing every song coming in on the record player. His singing, if it could be called that, is much louder than the actual music is, but perhaps that’s the point. Everyone around him is laughing, and if there is one thing Peggy knows about war, it’s that if you don’t laugh, you might as well be dead.

Gabe laughs, and Peggy notes carefully that his laugh is belly deep, and very...attractive. Yes, attractive. _Hmm_ , she thinks later on, in the privacy of her own room. No man has felt attractive since the whole debacle with lovely Michael and dear Fred.

But here and now, Gabe is attractive. He wipes at his eyes and says, “Jacques, _aidez-nous, s’il vous plaît?_ ”

Jacques stands with a groan and several creaky bones, muttering under his breath about more impolite things. He joins them and takes the lead cutting through the crowd, Gabe taking up caboose with Peggy between them. Peggy would not trust most men at her back for anything, but these men, these Howling Commandos, seem trustworthy enough. Steve believes in them, and that is enough for her. The fact that none of them have been too obvious in their staring, and none have made a comment on her position as an Agent in the SSR except to ask if she outranked them. ( _Yes, Sergeant Dugan, I do._ )

To have Gabe at her back will grow to be familiar, but for now it’s just new.

Of course, Jacques is approached by a woman with hair as red as any phone booth and lips the same color. She speaks in English, says something Peggy can’t decipher over all the noise, but when he says, “ _Je ne parle pas anglais_ ,” she replies in rapid fire French, that has Jacques’ eyebrows raising. “ _Au revoir, mes amis,_ ” he says, barely turning their way to do it, before he leaves them there in the crush of it all.

Peggy does not roll her eyes — it would be impolite. She does give herself a moment to think awfully crude things about the French (she will not repeat them but know it has to do with their commitment to things in wartime) before marching on, Gabe just behind her. Everyone parts for a man in uniform, especially one as tall as Gabe, so it is much easier getting to the bar than she had expected. It’s the opposite end from Steve and Sergeant Barnes, but they’re in so deep of conversation she isn’t worried about being spotted. The bartender takes up her attention anyway. She orders a French 75, bourbon the rocks, “California red wine, any brand”, and a round of beers for them all. No rum, whiskey, or vermouth for the Commandos yet.

“Whose tab?” She asks Gabe.

He leans in, mouth by her ear, asks, “Pardon?”

“Whose tab is it on?” She repeats, a little shocked by how close they are. It’s not a bad shocked, though. Not at all.

“Ah, the Captain’s,” he replies, and pulls away, eyes crinkling up like he’s embarrassed.

Peggy turns back to the bartender and tells him the correct tab, then waits patiently for the drinks to come. Once they’re all laid out, Peggy thinks irritably, _We really could have used Jacques’ help_. But no matter — there’s no time to worry about him or where he’s gone or what he’s doing.

As she hands three beers over to him, a surge of something — courage, maybe, or perhaps just foolishness — makes her touch his fingers. Just a brush of her small finger over his, which are curled around the drink. He almost jumps out of his skin, eyes snapping up to hers.

“Agent — Peggy,” he stutters.

Peggy just meets his eyes and pretends she planned that. “Yes, Private?”

“Gabe,” he corrects, just as she had. “Just Gabe, ma’am.”

They share a smile, and Peggy thinks, _It’s up to him, now_.

It’s quite difficult to return to the table, but thankfully, Falsworth stands and comes to their help. The drinks get passed around before they sit, much to Jim’s relief and joy. Peggy goes to pull her seat out, but Gabe gives her a smile and does it himself. He pushes it back in, as well, fingers brushing her hair. When he sits, her right leg presses up against his left. It’s wildly improper, enough her Mother would certainly lock her away in a tower, but Peggy is a modern woman. She’s wearing her favorite dress, she’s chumming around with men, and she’s nudging a line that Gabe seems to have no problem with being bent.

By the time her French 75 and a cup of Jim’s wine (perfectly acceptable, but nothing like how the French kind tastes), she has a need to use the restroom. She doesn’t announce her intentions, but when she places her palms on the table, just a tad wobbly and needing the support, Gabe stands as well.

All the men watch them, Dum Dum’s eyes specifically baring down on her.

“Gabe, I can see myself to the ladies’ room. I do not need an escort.” Though, to be quite honest, she would like one. As the night grows longer, the crowd has grown larger.

“I’m sure,” he says, not demuring even a bit, “But my Mama would give me the switch if I showed poor manners in front of such a lovely woman. This crowd is thick enough to get lost in, and I don’t think any of us would like that.”

Jim has a good laugh about that while Peggy scrutinizes Gabe. Is this the Southern Charm she has heard so much about? Hmm.

“Alright,” she concedes, reaching her arm out for him. He steps closer but doesn’t link their arms together. Instead, he gives her a smile she can only describe as shy (not a common sight these days; men who smile either do it as a lie, smugly, or out of pure, momentary joy. The world is short of bashfulness these days, perhaps with the exception of the Howling Commandos), and leads their charge.

He takes up a good amount of space, broad shouldered and just a bit taller than her (even with her in heels); the dancers part for him easily. Peggy stays half a step behind him, peeking over his shoulder to watch.

When they get to the doors, Gabe says, “I’ll wait here — don’t hurry on my account,” like a self sacrificing idiot, completely ready to stand for however long it takes, a bouncer or maybe a bodyguard. Peggy, unfortunately, is attracted to those kinds of idiots more than the rest.

She lays a hand on his bicep, tells him, “You’re sweet,” and goes inside the single bathroom to do her business.

According to her wristwatch, which she cannot help but wear even here, it takes her scarcely three minutes. Still, she apologizes once she’s back out, smiling again at Gabe — dear Gabe. After all, her Mother has instilled manners in her as well.

He escorts her back to the table, meets her eyes more than the others’ as he weaves his own tales, and accompanies her back to the bar once more in the next hour. At the end of the night, they all go to the barracks together — the men have to share rooms nearer to the conference rooms, while her own is across from Howard’s. The fool has decided they are pseudo-siblings and must stick close together, hence why she temporarily lives here instead of with the rest of the agents. Colonel Phillips has said nothing about it. Of course, so close to luxury (or genius, Howard likes to interject) has perks — she has more space for just herself than the men do. They have yet to truly become a team (apparently Steve asked while she was in the bathroom, and they all agreed, even Gabe and Jacques who he found as individuals, away from the group; no telling how he could communicate with Jacques) yet they are sandwiched together like one.

Gabe walks her right up to her door. She doesn’t invite him in, no matter how she might suddenly want to, instead says, “Thank you for tonight. It turned out quite well by your side.”

He smiles at her again, teeth as bright as they can be after a month-long stint as POW, and says, “I couldn’t agree more.”

For a long moment, they grin at each other like a pair of fools. Then she leans up on the toes of her heels as much as she needs to, and presses a kiss to his cheek. When she pulls away, it’s to see his mouth has dropped open just a bit, eyes soft but intense. “Goodnight, Gabe,” she says, once again resting her hand briefly on his bicep.

“Goodnight, Peggy,” he replies, nodding a tiny nod, and walking away. She watches for a moment, eyes inexplicably drawn to his backside, then shuts herself away for the night.

**[...]**

The Howling Commandos become a team. There are back-to-back missions for them after over a month of training together and with others. All of their belongings stay at the barracks, where Peggy stays stationed herself.

Rarely are her nights free — always Howard wanting to go out, orders to give and orders to get, agents to round up. Still, she finds the time to ensure the men’s things are kept safe. Their individual letters are forwarded to their static positions or kept at base to wait for them. Peggy does not write to any of them frequently, or anyone really, her parents not interested in hearing about her adventures. Instead she writes in a journal, well aware that her feelings need to be expressed _somewhere_.

Of course, that eats up more of her precious free time.

A good amount of it is spent with the boys. Colonel Phillips generally doesn’t allow her to leave whatever base he is at, too dependant on her even though he would never admit that, but other times it works out so that she is in the same place as the Commandos.

It’s easy to become friends with them. They are a rowdy bunch even outside of the pub, joking and heckling with each other.

One day, when they’re all back at base, they insist to her that all of them have become a Commando by doing the “Howlies’ 107 Push-Ups”.

“And what is that?” She asks them, eyebrow raised to show she’s skeptical.

“One hundred and seven one-armed push ups!” Dum Dum declares, then claps Gabe, who is nearest to him, on the back. “Why don’t you show her?”

Peggy almost says she needs no demonstration — the premise is straightforward — but then Gabe laughs, pulls off his jacket, and gets down on the floor.

“Y’all gonna count for me?” He asks, looking up at their group. At their agreement, he gets into position, left arm behind his back, and begins.

Peggy watches closely, not above watching the muscles in his back move beneath his shirt, and helps count alongside the others. It takes him over a half hour to do it, and there are moments he needs encouragement to finish, but he makes it.

She helps him stand back up on his feet, looks him in the eye, says, “Good work, Private. Now, if you please, move so I may try my hand at it.”

He grins at her, dips in a slight bow, steps away from the circle they’ve made. His jacket is handed back to him, but he doesn’t slide it back on.

Peggy takes off her own jacket, her heels, and gets down. Right hand behind her back, she says, “Count for me, gentlemen,” and then proceeds to complete the challenge. It is quite difficult without shoes on, but she gets through it by telling herself that if Gabe can do it, so can she.

She does not collapse on the floor after, no matter how badly she wants to. Instead, she takes Gabe’s hand, leans on him to put her heels back on.

“Looks like we have another Commando,” Steve says, smiling at her with flushed cheeks.

“Welcome to the team.” Gabe shakes her hand formally, leading to a whole round of handshakes.

Of course, it’s not official, but ask any Howlie and they’ll say the same thing — _there are eight of us_.

**[...]**

On a day off in London, Peggy offers to show the men around. Falsworth declares he can give a better tour — they go out and see. They are out for most of the day, seeing all the spots Falsworth believes to be the most important. Peggy knows the more cozy spots, though it seems most of them have been bombed out.

There is one cafe of her several favorites still standing. Only she and Gabe go inside, the others wanting to eat at a nearby pub instead.

“You can go with them,” Peggy tells Gabe as they separate. A moment alone would not be remiss.

Gabe’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he shakes his head. “No, ma’am, that’s alright. I’d rather see this place. Less crowded.”

So they go inside.

As they are seated, she asks, “Is this okay?”

She is, of course, referring to the other patrons, who stare at them indiscreetly. A man and woman in uniform is a common sight here, but a black man with a white woman is not. Peggy gives them her best glares, ones Howard has declared her Death Glares of Varying Degrees, thankfully causing them to look away in embarrassment.

Gabe shrugs in answer, eyes scanning the room. “Better than it could be,” is all he says, nonchalant. He peruses the menu, then, clearly not interested in speaking more about it. After a moment, he asks, “Do they serve coffee here, or just tea?”

“I’m sure they have both. I would suggest the Earl Gray, of course.”

“Of course,” Gabe replies with a laugh. “You British folk love your tea.”

Teasingly, Peggy shoots back, “Have you see your fellow Americans and their coffee addictions?”

They joke all through their orders being placed and their food — two BLTs, one for each of them — being brought to them. Gabe does try the tea, commenting, “It’s not coffee, but...it’s not bad.”

Peggy will take that as a victory. You have to, in wars like these.

Over an hour later, they meet back up with the other Howlies, most of whom are “buzzed”. It takes quite a long time to return to base, as the buzzes refuse to wear off and Dernier eventually refuses to walk. Peggy finds the whole fiasco entertaining if nothing else, especially when, soon after Jim is shifted to her shoulder from Bucky’s (Gabe on Steve’s now, and Dernier on Bucky’s as soon as Jim is transferred), she reveals that she is not actually twenty-five like they think.

“What?” Jim demands, though his slurring of the single word takes the heat out of it. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three. Quite a bit younger than you.”

Of course, she only says this to Jim, the others just too far ahead to be able to hear. Later, when Jim is helping support and being supported by Falsworth, he tells them and is swiftly not believed. It is rather hilarious.

The matter is dropped soon enough, but several days later, just before they are to go to Austria, Gabe finds her loitering by Howard’s lab.

“Jim is still insisting you’re younger than him,” he greets, then sighs through his nose, and says, “Let me start over. Good afternoon, Peggy. How are you?”

Charmed despite herself (Peggy will blame it on his Southern manners), she chuckles a little bit. “I am well. What about you?”

Gabe nods once, tells her, “Almost packed for Austria. It’s taken some of the weight off. Not literally, of course, we carry so much it would make more sense to have another member to foist the extra stuff onto him. I meant, I feel more at ease knowing I won’t be scrambling tomorrow. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“Ah, yes, you said Jim is spreading rumours about me?” Completely true ones straight from her mouth, yes, but it’s more fun to tease than admit he’s right.

Her words seem to catch Gabe off guard. He swallows visibly. “Not rumours, per se. He’s saying you’re actually twenty-three.”

“My records say I’m twenty-five,” is all she says to that, laughing a bit more when an expression of realization comes over him.

“Oh,” he says, chuckling. “I’ll — I will let him know there’s no denying your true age, Peggy.”

“Thank you kindly,” she replies.

For a moment, they both smile, not sure what else to say. Peggy has never been good at small talk.

Then, at the same time, they both start to speak.

“So,” Gabe says.

“I should — “

“You go ahead,” Gabe offers, gesturing at her.

“No, no, you, please.”

Clearly not wanting this to drag on too long, he clears his throat. “Um. Alright. I was going to ask if you wouldn’t mind making sure a few letters I have are sent. I won’t have enough time to get them to the mailroom, and sometimes the MPs, uh, _lose_ my letters.”

They do, do they? Hmm. She’ll have to ask for the names of the mail runners, give them some impromptu training. “Of course I can. I assume they’re still with your pack?”

“You assume correctly. I can go get them now,” he half asks, inflection rising by the last word.

She steps closer, rests a hand on his forearm. “I’ll accompany you,” she decides.

Happily, he offers her his arm, and they make the trip to the dorms. It’s not a quick one, considering the size of the base, but they make it quite enjoyable with their conversation. He explains that one of the letters is to his parents — “Mostly censored. You know how it is.” — one is to his brother Johnny, who’s a Marine — “I told him, ‘you had better make it home. I won’t be the only one walking Mama’s dogs once this war is over.’” — and one to his sister Alice and her children, whose names are Bea, Jessie, and Freddie — “I wrote each of them, just some advice I think would do them good. Bea is in school, now, and if she’s anything like Alice, she will be bored out of her mind there.”

He goes on, and she listens avidly as he talks about how his brother-in-law, Teddy, passed in early 1942, and how hard it’s been on Alice, raising three children by herself. Freddie, Gabe says, is turning four in July.

“I don’t know any children, so I must ask: is watching them grow as magical as they say it is?”

Gabe positively lights up, emphatically telling her, “It really is. It’s slow of course, but when Bea first said my name….” He shakes his head, grinning brightly. Peggy can’t help but smile, too. “I’ll admit it brought a tear to my eye.”

Her treacherous mind imagines a child with his complexion and her chin, some indefinable age but undeniably young, saying, “Gabe.” _No, that’s not right,_ she thinks, and the imaginary child says instead, “Dada!”

She gasps, quietly but Gabe still notices. He pauses, pulling them to the side a bit to get out of the way.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and there’s concern there, a fondness grown from their adventures. She had assumed those adventures weren’t enough for things to get to this point, but she is clearly proven wrong. _That’s it_ , she thinks, steeling herself.

“Quite,” she says, not as warmly as she had been aiming for. She’s a great shot, but apparently not at this. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

It doesn’t take much longer for them to arrive, and thankfully his room is empty. They spend a short moment awkwardly unseparated at the door, all decorum saying Peggy is not to enter the room alone with him. However, Peggy doesn’t give a damn (there is a _war_ on, there’s no _time_ for decorum) and gestures for him to go, then follows him in once there’s room to do so. Considering the size of the room — just big enough to house a bunkbed and two trunks with limited walking space — it’s not a lot.

Then she closes the door.

Gabe does not reach for his letters, which she can see are sitting next to his bag. Instead, he looks at the door and back at her, an eyebrow raised.

“I’ve been thinking,” she begins, not sure where she’s going with it until she says, “I would quite like to kiss you.”

His breath catches in his throat, his mouth dropping open just enough for her to glimpse his tongue. “I’d like to kiss you, too,” he tells her, no surprise coloring his tone despite his flustered expression.

Stepping closer, Gabe seems to sober. He doesn’t stop until they’re close enough that his chest brushes against hers.

“Shall I, then?” She whispers. It’s possibly one of the bravest things she’s ever done, take this step with him.

“You shall,” he replies at the same volume.

She pushes forward and, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, pulling him down the scant distance so they finally meet.

Peggy has not kissed many men in her life. Fred and her dear friend Winston from primary have been the only ones. She has little experience with it as a result, but it’s safe to say that Gabe is the best kisser she knows.

It’s chaste, sweet. No French in them today. Yet he still infuses emotion into it, in the hands he brings up to hover, then rest on her waist. She leans further into him, and he into her. He becomes bolder, his hand moving up to rest on the small of her back. Unbidden, her own hands slide up over his shoulders and crisscross, pulling him down and, yes, deepening it.

He’s the one who pulls away first, sucking in the air that she exhales.

Their foreheads are resting against each other’s, another win in Peggy’s book. It’s a peaceful moment — every minute of the day she’s spent with him has been peaceful — and, as silly as it sounds, she doesn’t want it to end.

The door opens, however, and Jim is suddenly squawking, “Oh my god! I — I’ll come back. Sorry!”

The door is slammed shut as quickly as it was opened.

Peggy had stepped out of his embrace the second their moment was intruded on, mind frozen and numb. As Jim leaves, her mind churns to life, a thousand thoughts a minute. The most prevalent is that if anyone other than Jim were to do that, her entire place here would be at jeopardy. She is hardly a woman to most of the men here, just another sexless being who’s their superior. Of course, she is not free of their comments, but she’s been able to make her place here secure. If she were caught with a man...it could ruin her.

“Peggy,” Gabe says.

She blinks back into focus, looking back at him from where her eyes had fallen to the floor. “Yes? Gabe?”

“I said your name three times.”

“Oh. My apologies.” She smooths out her skirt, an anxious habit she’s never been able to shake since childhood, and moves to the door. Her back is to Gabe when she says, “Just leave the letters on the cot. I’ll be by after you’ve left and make sure they get sent.”

Then, without waiting for a response, she leaves.

**[...]**

Peggy mails the letters and does her work and tries not to think about anything but the war. Her dreams, traitorous as the Russians, are full of Gabe and their kiss. The other men and their safety weigh heavily on her mind, causing her to remind herself several times a day that they are grown men and can handle themselves out there.

Colonel Phillips sends her to meet them in France for a more political mission, which is of the course the only reason she’s allowed to go in the field at all. Sometimes she resents having so much knowledge — she wants to fight, too.

The boat ride is under the cover of night, and then she has to take a train. She gets dreadfully sick on the water with a migraine. It’s better on the train, though she’s so tense the entire time, waiting for one of the krauts to recognize her or see through her accent, she hardly notices.

The mission is set in a village too small to infiltrate stealthily, so they meet up in the town right next door. They’re holed up in a hotel, different rooms on different floors so as to be less suspicious. Steve gets the largest room, which he shares with Sergeant Barnes, and that’s where they brief.

Peggy recalls the rest of the mission in a blur — marching to the village, helping direct the men to the targets, Sergeant Barnes _missing_ the first shot and cursing a blue streak as he makes the second one, rapid gun fire. Being shot.

_Being shot._

Gabe throws her arm over his shoulder, stooping as low as he has to so she’s not straining, and takes her to a safe spot. It’s her right shoulder, which makes her angier more than anything — that’s her dominant hand and she’ll have to relearn everything now — and it’s high up enough that there’s no awkwardness about accidental touching of her breasts.

She passes out as one of the men — Steve? — comes upon them.

**[...]**

When Peggy fully wakes up several days later, she’s back on base, in the medical bay. She blinks for long moments at the ceiling, comforted by the drabness of it. Then she turns her head, and finds Gabe at her bedside.

He’s on her left. She reaches out for him, trying not to move any other part of her body. Luckily he’s close enough for her to tap on the shoulder. “Gabe.”

He snorts awake, eyes wide and frightened before clarity comes over him. “Peggy,” he breathes out. “How are you? Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head, but realizes there _is_ something she wants. “Come here,” she says, and then, “Closer,” when he doesn’t come close enough. Not waiting for him to do so, she smooths her hands over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin through the two layers separating them. Her palms are flat at first, but she curls her fingers and delights in the way his eyes flutter for a moment as her nails press just enough to be felt. Then she gently tugs him down.

Their lips crash together once again, and it’s not graceful by any means. Their teeth collide briefly but painfully, and his mouth is misaligned with hers, but it doesn’t matter. It’s them, it’s something good, something to distract her from the pain in her shoulder.

He pulls away, eyes blinking open slowly, and he smiles. “What was that for?” He asks, and Peggy’s not so slow to not realize there’s a hidden meaning in his words, the other questions he’s asking — was that because he saved her? Was it because she’s in pain and doesn’t know what she’s doing?

Peggy’s not slow but she is stupid. _Stupidly in love_ , she thinks, picturing Howard’s smirking face in her mind’s eye. “Because I believe I might be falling in love with you,” she tells him, and watches as his eyes widen, as he leans back in, and kisses her sweetly.

When he pulls away, there’s a sparkle in his eyes. “Good,” he says, voice lighter than she knew it could go. “That’s good. I’m falling in love with you, too.”

She gasps, and really, there’s nothing else she can possibly do but kiss him again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they get married and have babies and work for SHIELD and are still alive in 2011 when Steve wakes up yay
> 
> Please comment and I will love you forever and also please give some love to samthebirdbae's art!!!!!!


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